Game Changer
by Chey119
Summary: There's the very delicate way they're standing, restrained and never touching, no never touching, but close enough that he can smell her shampoo and she can detect the faint hint of soap near his neck.


**A/N: Just a forewarning, I have not done any creative writing for years so please be kind^^**

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There's the way they're looking at each other. Her blue challenging his grey in the standoff of the century, and the very tilt of their lips, her's full and challenging and blown out into a comical frown and his in an everlasting grin, dimples denting ever so slightly by the corners of his mouth. There's the very delicate way they're standing, restrained and never touching, _no never touching_, but close enough that he can smell her shampoo and she can detect the faint hint of soap near his neck. Close enough where he can feel the tickle of her breath by his jaw, like a chaste kiss, and it sends a sharp shiver down his spine, _oh so very sharp_, and he responds by leaning just a tad closer, enough that he can see his reflection in those giant blue eyes, and he can feel her breath hitch and he's grinning, bigger than ever before.

But she's not backing down and takes a step forward, half-step really, and now she's flush against his chest, _oh spirits now they're touching, _but her eyes never leave his, and she notices that small falter, that split second where his gaze drops to her collarbone and back up and she's won this round. Or so she thinks, because now they're in a whole new ball game because she touched him first and now it's only right that he reciprocate. Long slender hands move deftly up to her clavicle and trace the long line to her shoulders, and he can feel her shudder, _and oh how sweet victory is, _and his nearly impossible grin grows wider as he runs the smooth tips of his fingernails lightly down her arms and he thinks he's got her, but then he feels a small pressure run down his sides and catch his waist.

Her hands have escaped and run themselves over his front and the expanse of his back, and he clenches his jaw at the fire that is seeping through his clothes and on to his skin, a sweltering heat that sends an ache throughout his entire body with ever tiny touch of her fingers. And now she's the one grinning because his eyes flutter shut when her hands wind themselves up into the ends of his black hair and give a small tug and his grin has disappeared save for those ever-present dimples etched near the corners of his lips. _Lips_. Lips that are hovering right over hers, have been hovering, but never touching, _no never ever touching,_ and who will be the first to break the silence, to take it one step further, be the first to close the distance, and wasn't that the whole point of this little game? But he's not done yet, his gaze flicking back to hers, and this time she falters because there's fire behind those grey eyes and his hands are on her again, this time running up her neck and tugging out her hair clasps, all three of them, _because who needs three ponytails,_ and he's pushing back the heavy brown hair over her shoulders and the shock of her bare neck exposed to the tingle of his breath sends a shock wave from the top of her head to the base of her toes.

And she's biting her lip and he his, and their hands are in each others hair and their chests are flush against one another, save their thin layer of clothes, but it's the final contact that's the game changer, to determine who wins and who loses, but spirits know they're both too stubborn to admit defeat. And maybe that's the reason when their gazes finally drift back up they recognize the set-back and a silent agreement forms between them, _because hey a draw technically isn't losing. _It only takes a split second for both to lean forward and their lips to graze over one another slowly, because rushing these things is no fun, and there's that spark when they touch that feels like a fire set ablaze in their cores.

And it's the hypersensitivity that makes their hands move faster and their kisses rougher, and there's the urge to explore, and as a grin graces his lips again she takes that as another challenge and tugs his hair sharply back leaving the long line of his neck vulnerable. And she can feel his whole body shaking as her lips and tongue mark a spot on his pale flesh, just underneath the corner of his jaw. But he refuses to make a sound, because this is still a game, _but spirits what she's doing is so unfair,_ and he reacts by slipping one slender hand up under her shirt and he sees her still, and it's just enough of a pause for him to dip his head low and place a surprising kiss on her mouth. Not sweet and chaste like before, but rough and hungry. And he bites her lower lip, and she's trying to keep up _but his damn hand_, and he hovers his mouth over the pulse of her throat and bites hard and immediately smooths it over with his tongue and sucks, long and drawn-out, and a raspy cry escapes her throat and it's the sweetest sound on his ears, _the sound of victory_.

And there's a silence that follows where neither of them move, their limbs still knots and tangles around each other and she can feel his grin expand on her pulse, can visualize the dimples deepening in the smooth expanse of his cheeks. "I win this round, Avatar," he says, voice a low rumble on her neck and she knows it's true, but instead she mutters "I let you have it, pretty boy," and blows a small puff of air lightly in his ear and feels his whole body shiver and his breath catch, and it's enough to make her chuckle.


End file.
